


Loose Strands

by soniagiris



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Ikusaba Mukuro, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Slice of Life, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 21:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soniagiris/pseuds/soniagiris
Summary: "Mukuro." Their given name sounds smooth and beautiful in her mouth, despite taking its morbid meaning into account. "Let me assist you. You're gonna collapse if you continue to do each one of the errands by yourself."





	Loose Strands

**Author's Note:**

> >beta'ed by vee and star, tysm my dears <3

"So how did it go?" Maizono pipes up as she intercepts Mukuro's backpack and starts unloading it. "Any luck?"

"No, not really," they shrug and allow themself to lean against the wall. "And one of despair almost got me."

"Wh— Oh my god, are you hurt?!" Sayaka drops the bag on the rickety table and reaches out for her friend, yet doesn't touch them, even though it's clear her hands itch for searching for any potential wounds, and Mukuro can't help but snort.

"Hah, _ almost got me, _ Maizono-san." They tap the side of their temple with a wan smirk. "I'm a soldier, in the end." 

"However..." she grimaces slightly. "You realize I worry. What if you don't come back one day?"

"That won't happen," they reply shortly and strut to the sorry excuse of a kitchen where they can grab a bottle of water. Drinking voraciously, they close their eyes for a second and focus on the tension in their shoulders. Damn. Mukuro's kinda getting too old for that. Only, what, fifteen months, and they're that drained? 

"Yay!"

Oh. Maizono found her gift. 

"I'm glad you like it," Mukuro chirps, rejoining their companion. "You whined a lot about this."

"I... actually did, didn't I?" She pulls her wild mane from her eyes and ties it with a jarringly pink scrunchie. "Sorry. It was quite irritable, constantly having to spit out my..." She blushes a bit, then abandons the topic and instantly gets back to unpacking. Interesting.

"Mm, anyway, I didn't find any medicine except some hydrogen peroxide, so try not to get cold again." They catch a can of soup Maizono threw at them without looking up, and put it on a shelf, then do the same with the next one. A weird system, yeah, but it works fine. "Some clothes, because winter is near. You saw the food—"

"That's all you could find?" Maizono screws up her face, pulling out a relatively clean sweater and putting it to her chest before folding it and turning towards Mukuro. "Listen, maybe, in fact, I should go with—"

"Absolutely not," Mukuro says pointedly. "It's dangerous, and I won't let you get injured, not—" They bite their tongue, and the brief taste of blood makes them reminisce Junko. "Not even if that meant me getting in the way of it." It's awkward, their intonation off and words stumbling. But better than... It's better.

"Teach me, then." She lifts her chin up and doesn't do as much as blink. "One day, we will have to leave, you're aware of that, so I want to be prepared when it happens. To support you, not be a burden."

"Maizono-san..." Mukuro rubs their brow, absently noticing a red-brown stain on their glove. "Please understand that—"

"Mukuro." Their given name sounds smooth and beautiful in her mouth, despite taking its morbid meaning into account. "Let me assist you. You're gonna collapse if you continue to do each one of the errands by yourself."

"But you're already plenty helpful," they protest weakly, but Maizono has run off already. She digs through their tools and comes back with a pair of scissors in her unshakable hand.

"Cut my hair," she requests. Her gaze doesn't waive, all steel and resolution and beyond the snapping point. "That's a step in the correct direction, right? You keep yours short, and if I were to—" She breaks off again, then pushes the scissors into Mukuro's half-open palm.

"It'll be jagged," they finally say, deciding to ponder on Maizono's strange behavior at a different time. "I never did that to anyone else, and, besides that, you got to have your hair wet to make it look not as crappy as mine."

"I like your hairdo." Maizono smiles faintly, but, this time, without any doubt. 

How curious. During the past year, Maizono's facade has, well, eroded, her cutesy grins and exaggerated gestures becoming more and more stiff and automatic, so Mukuro learned to count the real emotions, distinguish dirty pearls from shiny plastic. And, yeah, that kind of metaphor would fit Junko better, she is— was the one who could pride herself as the eloquent one of them two, but Mukuro thinks it fits the situation. The smiles which reached Sayaka's eyes never overflow with power, just the opposite, they barely curved her expression, but they were real. And that's what counts, yes? Knowing what's real and what isn't, what brings death and what doesn't, being monochromatic once in a fuckin' while, because if the world decided to oppose hope against despair, then so be it. 

So be it.

Gripping the scissors, Mukuro watches Sayaka spread a dusty synthetic sheet on the floor and sit on it, slipping the scrunchie on her thin wrist. Her blue strands spill over her arms. Mukuro swallows and sits behind her, gently grabbing the long strands. 

Then — then they cut. Sayaka inhales sharply but doesn't budge.

"You're scared," Mukuro murmurs, nearly softly, as they straighten their fingers and spread them to allow the snipped off locks to fall down. "Of what."

"Of being brave. Of not backing down, no matter what. Of being like you." A light shiver runs over her limbs. Her skull looks smaller, somehow. Lighter. "But I have to. Because of..."

"I know."

They know. Strawberry blond hair, cherry-red lipstick, nail polish in the color of fresh apples, Junko was alive and thriving, and then she was not. And losing her causes Mukuro's nightmares to have a more coherent shape. 

No, no. Stop. In, out. Don't think. It's too risky to grieve.

They chop off another part of Sayaka's overgrown bangs, then say,

"If you care about it this much, I'll train you." When Sayaka tenses up, probably getting ready to flood them with gratitude, Mukuro hums a disapproving noise and benevolently taps her on the bared back of her neck. "Don't wriggle. And don't get overexcited."

"Still," she says, dutifully trying not to move. "Thank you, Mukuro."

"No problem..." They pause, then resume offhandedly, "Sayaka."

There is no further conversation for the following ten minutes when Mukuro finishes hacking off their friend's hair and bundles the sheet up. Out of the corner of their eye, they can see Sayaka check herself out in the cracked mirror. She shakes her head, her locks now only reaching to her jaw (well — mostly), then curves her lips in a beautiful smile.

It's the second real one this day. A new record. Mukuro regards her with a small grin, determining that touching on those burning topics wasn't such a bad idea.

For now, they watch Sayaka and wonder.

Maybe this won't end up so badly as Mukuro expects. Maybe there's hope.

Who knows.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: violence ment; death ment**
>   * sil posting angst fics for two days in the row? more possible that you thought!
>   * also - please [check out this ikuzono discord](https://discord.gg/Q9beAZ3), we make memes and cry a lot it's fun i promise
> 



End file.
